Page 119 of Mate of a Monster

Below, the scene slows. Legend and past me move inch by inch farther over the cliffside as the stone beneath my boots cracks.

Darkness begins to crawl from the ground from which Legend leaped with me over his shoulder.

Only it’s not smoke or shadow, like back in Rathe. It’s oil.

The wind whispers again, “The soul stones shall perish in the absence of their queen, so I must keep the strongest piece of her king.”

Legend’s body lurches midair, his head snapping back.

That oil, thick and shining, begins to rise from the dirt of the island in slow, obscene pulls that make my pulse hammer. Horns breach first, long and cruel. Then, shoulders too broad and wrong to belong to any man I’ve ever seen. Red eyes open in the center of the dark like embers fed fresh air, and the shape keeps unfolding until he is there in full.

The Nightkin.

I jolt forward at the sight of him, palm pressing hard against my chest as if somehow it will make me feel his presence.

He stands where the island is cracking open, body slick with that tar-dark shine and old blood and something so inhuman it makes every protective instinct in me go silent just to watch.

He is beautiful in the worst possible way. The most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.

And fucking terrifying.

And mine.

His head tilts, watching Legend steal me away, and the island shudders harder.

The black surf rages below the cliffs and the island speaks to him. “I had to keep the next strongest thing.”

The Nightkin doesn’t move, the red of his eyes brightens.

“Without her, I would have died,” The island explains to the demon, “But without you, he will too.”

He? What does she mean he—

Oh my gods.

Legend…

The ground heaves under me and I stumble back, the whole of Exile coming apart at the seams. Cliffs split and sand falls away in sheets. The old blood in the shoreline darkens as water claws farther in.

The Nightkin slowly turns his head. I swear he looks right at me, but in the next fraction of a second, everything shatters.

Light slams over me so hard I flinch.

I blink my eyes open once the brightness subsides.

I’m not on Exile anymore.

I’m back at the dinner table, the royals of Rathe staring right at me.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Haide

The scent of roasted meat and flowers crashes into my lungs, distasteful after salt and ash and blood. My hands grip the arms of the chair so hard my knuckles ache as I try to adjust to the new scenery again.

Floating above the center of the long table is a shimmering projection of black cliffs and stormwater fading into nothing.

A holographic screen. Projecting the memories I just relived.